Rift
by Hermione-2113
Summary: We all know the story - Hermione travels to the past, and, while there, falls in love with Severus. That's usually the cue for her to return home. But not this time. An AU fic: what if the Hermione Granger that Harry and Ron know...never existed?
1. Prologue

A/n: All right, this is going to be a little bit confusing. The first segment below is taken from OotP, though modified slightly. It can be found on page 791of the US edition. Everything else is my writing - just not my characters. I know this chapter is rather fragmented and short, but trust me, that's just the prologue. No more jumping about in future chapters, I promise.  
  
~  
  
The footsteps coming from the Hall of Prophecy were getting louder. Hermione spared a moment to wish Harry hadn't shouted, but it was too late now.  
  
"Come on!" Harry yelled, taking off for the door, still standing ajar, at the end of the room. Neville followed, Hermione hot on their heels. However, she was abruptly halted; the cabinet, which was still falling and shattering, rising and healing, slammed down at her feet. She waited a few precious seconds for it to right itself, then started running once more. Only then did she notice that one of the hourglasses that had filled the cabinet had snagged its chain on one of her bushy curls. She ripped it out, barely missing a stride as she thrust it hastily into her pocket.  
  
~  
  
The following June, the students of Hogwarts returned to their parents. And if Mr. and Mrs. Granger noticed a thin golden chain around their daughter's neck when she got off the train, neither commented.  
  
~  
  
With a final, defeated yawn, Hermione set the book she'd been reading on her nightstand. She'd just read the same sentence five times without understanding it - a sure sign that she needed rest. She turned the lamp down low, and lay there, willing sleep to come.  
  
Sighing, she pulled out the golden hourglass that hung around her neck. It was a time-turner, most likely, though Hermione had never used it as such. She'd found it in her robes when she was discharged from the hospital, and had kept it on a whim. One never knew when something like that might come in handy - look at Buckbeak and -  
  
She winced, reluctant to complete that thought. Though she hadn't always approved of Harry's Godfather, Sirius Black had been a good man, and a comfort to her friend. The thought of him still hurt.  
  
Hermione had, briefly, considered using the time-turner to save Sirius once again - but this was rather different than last time. Then, Sirius had still been alive when she and Harry had gone back. Still, having the golden charm comforted her, and she lay there, admiring the play of the dim light over the glass. It remained in her hand as she slowly drifted into sleep.  
  
That night, the dreams assaulted her, and she moaned in her sleep, tossing restlessly until, finally, she rolled straight off the bed.  
  
She woke with a jolt, realizing that suddenly she was on the floor - not in bed, where she belonged. Hazily, she sat up, rubbing her eyes and yawning.  
  
"Who - what - who is that?"  
  
The sound of another voice in her bedroom made her freeze, and she reacted instantly, drawing her wand from the pocket of her nightshirt. Steeling herself against visions of Death Eaters, she whirled to face...  
  
Herself. 


	2. Chapter 1

A/n: Another mildly confusing chapter. You should be able to keep track of which Hermione is which; if anyone has trouble or ideas on how I can clear this up, let me know. Thanks!  
  
~  
  
It took Hermione a moment to connect the scared, tousled little girl on the bed with her own self, but her mother was fond enough of passing the photo albums around. This was, indeed, Hermione Granger. But what on earth was her years-younger self doing in her bedroom?  
  
Then, gradually, she realized that something was wrong with the room itself. The year before she'd left for Hogwarts, she and her mother had redecorated totally, replacing the pink stripes and kittens with a blue-and- cream checked pattern. Now, the kittens were back. So was the old rocking chair her mother had removed years ago. And the outfit draped over it was far, far too small to fit her. Her gaze fell on a calendar, and she froze. June, 1986.  
  
Ten years ago.  
  
The time-turner.  
  
The Hermione on the bed was staring at her older self with wide-eyed terror. "You can't get in here! You can't! The door's closed!"  
  
She was right, Hermione realized. When she'd been five, she'd gone through a period of nightmares, and had insisted on locking her door from the inside.  
  
Hermione took a step toward the bed, thinking to placate the girl she'd been while all the time wondering how on earth she was going to get out of this. The second she moved closer, however, past-Hermione shrieked, cowering away. Hermione glanced nervously at the door, knowing that any second, the screams would bring her parents running. She lunged towards her younger self, frantic to quiet her.  
  
Then-Hermione let out a terrified yell and, to her horror, her older self saw a bolt of light streaking towards her. Wandless magic, her mind noted. Wizarding children can produce wandless magic when threatened.  
  
Fearful of what that bolt might do, she glanced down at her wand and yelled, "Cingere Contego!"  
  
The Shield Charm threw up a glittering wall around her, and she breathed a sigh of relief. That relief soon turned to horror, however, when the shield did not absorb the bolt...  
  
But reflected it.  
  
The younger Hermione gave a final cry, then slumped, motionless, to the bed. Letting the Charm fall, Hermione rushed to check her. No pulse. She wasn't breathing.  
  
Horrified, Hermione shrank back. Something she'd told Harry long ago echoed, unbidden, through her numb thoughts;  
  
"Professor McGonagall told me what awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time...Loads of them ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake!"  
  
She could hear her parents shouting outside the door, hear them knocking and pounding at the heavy wood. Her vision swam, the sight of her own, dead form blurring before her eyes, before she toppled quietly over in a faint. 


	3. Chapter 2

((You'll forgive me a bit of creative license with the computer; I'm not well up on my tech history.))  
  
It was the oddest awakening Hermione had even experienced.  
  
How did you wake up when you were dead?  
  
But she didn't feel dead - ghosts didn't get cramps in their legs, did they? Did their cheeks get sore from being pressed against a hardwood floor?  
  
And even if she were alive - why was she still lying here? Her past-parents had been seconds away from busting down the door; surely she'd been out longer than that. And the room was deathly quiet.  
  
First step - gather more information, her mind prodded. Wincing, Hermione sat up, bracing her hands against the shiny floor. The first thing her gaze fell on was the corner where the rocking chair had stood; it was empty. Relief flooded her. Could it all have possibly been a bad dream?  
  
But the cold floor under her palms refuted that - in the present, *her* present, this room was carpeted.  
  
Gradually, her eyes adjusted to the dim light. A computer - clunky by the standards she knew - was centered on a wooden desk. Stacks of paper surrounded the monitor. The screensaver was on - hesitating a moment, she poked the mouse with one finger.  
  
The 'saver seemed to take forever to disengage; never had she appreciated her own laptop so. Finally, the screen groaned into view. The time blinked at the bottom-right corner, informing her than it was 3:47 AM. Very helpful. Shifting the mouse, she double-clicked on the tiny numbers. After another interminable wait, the date/time window popped up, and she stared with horrified eyes at the calendar.  
  
June. 1976.  
  
Now Hermione remembered; her bedroom had been used as her father's office before -  
  
Bile rose in her throat. Before she was born. Which was worse? she wondered with traces of hysteria. To live in a time when you'd killed yourself...  
  
Or to live having never existed? 


End file.
